


Desynchronized

by wookiekisses



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: A lot - Freeform, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Hurt, Loss of a sibling, creepy twin powers, this one is going to HURT, you think i'm kidding don't you
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-02
Updated: 2016-01-02
Packaged: 2018-05-11 02:48:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5611021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wookiekisses/pseuds/wookiekisses
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The street is practically running with blood and the bodies of Blighters and Rooks alike litter the cobblestones, some of them indistinguishable thanks to the crimson liquid that has seeped into their clothes. I am no stranger to violence; I was raised to be a killer, and a cold blooded one at that. But this? This was something else. This was pure carnage.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Desynchronized

**Author's Note:**

> This was fueled by my continual deaths during the Southwark Gang War while playing Syndicate. I thought I was cool and could handle it when I'm not at the advised level and I was very, very wrong. That got me thinking about what would happen if desynchronization wasn't a thing...what if when a character died, they were dead? So here's my angst baby. I'm sorry. Also, I don't own Assassin's Creed or any of the characters from that franchise. I'm just playing with them, and I'm not making any money. I'm broke. Trust me, I'm a college student.

Jacob's stomach lurched as he slipped from one train car to the next, and he ran a hand through his damp hair. He felt dingy despite having just bathed, a result of the thick London air and the stress of trying to hunt down Elliotson. The Soothing Syrup was still out there, most likely being pumped into patients in the asylum, and the thought made Jacob's jaw clench. 

"Stop yer frettin'; there's nothin' ta be done about it until the time's right," Agnes said as she puttered by to her desk. Jacob rolled his eyes, albeit in good nature, and flopped onto the small sofa across from the assassination wall. The web of red was spreading more quickly than it was shrinking it felt, and he scraped a hand across his bristly jaw as his stomach flipped again. Something was wrong. It felt as if someone were watching Jacob, clinging to the outside of the train with a pistol aimed at his head through a window. The feeling was probably not that unreasonable, but it was definitely unsettling. 

"Hey Agnes, have you heard anything from Nigel today?" he called out, hoping for a distraction from the weird sensation ripping his stomach to shreds.  _Did I eat something funny today? Nah, couldn't have been._

"Nae, the rascal's been quiet as a church mouse today unfortunately. I've been hopin' fer a little excitement meself but that's not happenin' apparently," Agnes replied, scribbling away in her ledger. Jacob sighed quietly and placed his hat over his face.  _Maybe some sleep will help my stomach **and** my nerves_ he thought, and with that he let the gentle rocking of the train lull him into a light sleep. 

\------

Ben walked slowly down the street, examining each one of his fallen brothers and sisters to see if anyone was still alive. It was highly unlikely that any of the people laying on the ground hadn't died, but he still clung to the childish hope that just  _one_ would have survived. The gang wars were always bloody, always full of death and destruction, but that didn't mean that it hurt any less. He rolled over one of the Rooks, their green and yellow tweed stained with crimson, and the woman's arm flopped down uselessly. Dead. 

"Oh hell," he heard someone breathe, and he looked up. Darcy was crouched over someone, the body hidden almost entirely from view thanks to a rather large Blighter laying between them, and she was tearing parts of her shirt and scarf off into some makeshift bandages. "Ben, I need medicine. Now!" she screamed. Ben leapt up and jumped over the bodies between himself and Darcy, and when he got to her he froze. 

"No, please no," Ben croaked, his hands trembling faintly as he passed over a bottle to Darcy. She pried open the firm jaw and let the liquid trickle in between soft lips, and the woman laying there coughed weakly before swallowing. 

"Get me a doctor. She's not going to make it if we don't get her some help," Darcy murmured, tying her scarf tightly around Evie's upper thigh. There was blood everywhere, pulsing into the yellow fabric with every beat of Evie's apparently traitorous heart. Ben crouched down and shook his head. 

"She's not gonna make it period with a wound like that," he whispered. Evie was pale and her breath was rasping already. Judging by the fact that the scarf was already soaked through, she had maybe a minute or two left of life. He sat down beside Evie, ignoring the filth that seeped into his clothing, and gently placed her head in his lap. "It's gonna be alright Miss Frye, promise," he said. He ignored the way his voice shook and instead brushed a few strands of loose hair out of her face. Evie had become somewhat of a regular fixture in the lives of all of the Rooks. Where Jacob was, she was close behind (if not already ahead of him), and she was a source of stability and logic where Jacob was passion and manic energy. She had been the one to recruit Ben, having saved him from two Blighters that were trying to rough him up for his money, and while Ben knew she wasn't entirely fond of the idea of the gangs he also knew that she fought just as hard as Jacob for the people of London. 

"Tell Jacob-" she rasped. Ben immediately lurched forward, knowing it was a miracle in and of itself that she was even still conscious. "Tell him I'm sorry." 

"I will," Ben promised, and after that Evie went still. Her chest shuddered with laboured breaths for another minute or two, and then that too ceased. He pressed his fingers to her neck. 

"She's dead," he croaked, looking up at Darcy. Darcy's face was streaked with blood and soot and tears, and she pressed her fist to her mouth to hold back whatever broken sounds she thought she might produce. 

"Someone should go find Jacob," Darcy said once she collected herself. Ben's heart sank. There would be no telling what would happen once Jacob found out that Octavia Plumb had killed his sister, but it wasn't going to be pretty.

"Stay here with her. I'll find some of the others to protect the area, but I don't think the Blighters will be coming around any time soon," Ben instructed, gently slipping out from under Evie's still form and resting her head on the ground. Octavia lay in the street only a few metres away, and as he walked past her lifeless form to race to Waterloo Station, he kicked her as hard as she could. The snap of her head back did little to satisfy him.

\------

"Jacob!"

The cry startled Jacob from his uneasy slumber and he sat bolt upright. One of the Rooks, a young man, _Ben? Yes, Ben,_ was standing at the entrance to the car panting and covered in blood. 

"What's happened?" Jacob demanded, rising immediately and shoving his hat on. He knew that things in Southwark were getting heated, but he had left the area in Evie's capable hands while he continued his search for information on the Syrup. 

"I...just come with me. Please," Ben nearly groaned. Jacob's stomach twisted violently once more.

"Lead the way," he said, and with that they were leaping out of the train and rolling into a sprint. 

\------

The street was practically running with blood and the bodies of Blighters and Rooks alike litter the cobblestones, some of them indistinguishable thanks to the crimson liquid that has seeped into their clothes. Jacob no stranger to violence; he was raised to be a killer, and a cold blooded one at that. But this? This was something else. This was pure carnage. For the first time in his life, Jacob thought that he might be sick as his boots schlepped through red stained mud. Several Rooks had been placed around the area, defending it despite the fact that they had obviously won. Jacob's fingers closed around his necklace, a shilling on a cord that Evie had given to him when they were children. It had been the first thing she successfully pickpocketed, and she had given it to him because "what's mine is yours, and what's yours is mine." 

His sister was nowhere to be seen, but he assumed that she was off tying up loose ends. Killing the gang leader was one thing; ensuring that the turf remained yours was another altogether. They still had to deal with Blighters showing up in Whitechapel all the time, much to his annoyance. 

"Mister Frye, I um. I don't know how to say this," Ben stammered, twisting his cap between his hands. Jacob paused and looked at the younger man immediately. 

"Say what?" 

"It's...it's your sister, sir."

Jacob's heart started racing and the twisting in his stomach reached painful heights. He was suddenly fiercely aware of the smell of blood all around them, coppery, sticky-sweet, and all too unpleasant. 

"Where is she?"

"She's-"

"Where is Evie?!" Jacob roared as his panic got the best of him. Ben pointed with a trembling hand to a woman hunched over a little bit away. Jacob took off, slipping and sliding in the mess of the fight, and he fell to his knees when he reached the woman. There was a crumpled figure laying on the ground beside her, black jacket contrasting greatly with the bright greens and reds of the gangs' uniforms. Without thinking, Jacob threw the woman back and gently lifted Evie's head. 

"Oh...oh god...E-Evie?" he whispered. His sister was still, even as he gently cradled her head to his stomach, and he hunched over to see if he could hear her breathing. Nothing. She wasn't breathing,  _she wasn't breathing,_ and Jacob let out a desperate, broken sound that he never thought he would hear coming from himself. "Evie please!" 

He put a hand to her pale neck; her heart was just as still as the rest of her. His eyes caught sight of the blood soaked scarf tied to her leg and he curled in around his sister's body. Nobody survived a wound like that, not even Evie. It felt like the world was crumbling around him, the dull cacophony of London fading into nothingness as he clutched his sister to his chest. 

"Evie," he groaned, feeling tears spill down his cheeks for the first time since he was a small boy. His breath came in great, heaving sobs and he managed to drag himself and Evie backward until he was pressed up against a wall. "Evie no. Evie, please, come on," Jacob rambled, tucking a lock of hair that had fallen from Evie's braid back behind her ear. "Please." 

His prayers went unanswered as he sat there, sobbing as he trailed his fingers over the freckles he had known his whole life, the delicate bridge of a nose so similar to his own, and he wished that he could see the sharpness in her eyes just one last time. The coldness that had taken over Evie's body was grabbing a hold of him, sinking into his bones, into his very soul, and it wasn't going to let go. His sister was dead. His lifelong companion, his nemesis, his best friend, his partner in crime, his moral compass, his constant annoyance, the one person he had sworn to protect until the day he died, was gone. He had never been alone, not even in the womb, and now...now he was alone. 

His sister was  _dead_. 

"Who did this to her?" he growled after a few minutes, hours, he had lost track of the time. He wanted to wrap his hands around their throat and squeeze until the life left them. He wanted to see the light go out behind their eyes. He wanted to eviscerate them and then hang their body from the top of Big Ben. 

"O-Octavia Plumb," the woman who he had thrown back so carelessly earlier stuttered.

"Where is she?" 

"Dead." 

A scream tore its way from Jacob's chest and continued to take him over until his throat was hoarse with it. He wouldn't even be allowed revenge because the bitch that had killed Evie was already dead. Footsteps pounded behind him and he heard someone take a sharp breath.

"No," Greenie whispered, sinking into a kneel beside Jacob. Jacob looked up at him, a snarl on his lips, but when he saw the brokenhearted expression on Henry's face he held it back. Evie had meant the world to a lot of people; Jacob knew that. 

"Watch her for a minute," Jacob asked, and when Henry gently took Evie from him he almost ran. God did he want to run. It felt like a nightmare, and he was amazed that it didn't feel like he was treading through toffee when he took a step towards the still corpse of Octavia Plumb. The bitch was dead alright, a knife driven right into her chest. Jacob bent down and ripped the knife out of her heart without any reverence or care. It was a knife that Jacob knew well, Evie's knife, a gift from Henry that Evie had (for some reason) cherished. His eyes fell shut and he gripped the knife so tightly that it hurt. When he returned to Henry, who he realized was sobbing as he rocked Evie's body gently, he fell to his knees once more. 

"She killed her," he croaked, holding the knife out to Henry. Henry sucked in a sharp breath and the two carefully exchanged Evie's body and the knife. Evie's weight was so familiar, Jacob had carried her out of situations where she had been knocked unconscious or seriously injured enough to know that weight as she no doubt had known his, but her usually flushed cheeks were pale and clammy. A fresh wave of tears spilled out of Jacob's eyes and a few soaked into Evie's shirt or fell onto her face as he forced himself to stand. 

"Where are you going?" Henry asked when he noticed that Jacob was standing. 

"To the train," Jacob croaked, adjusting his grip so that Evie wouldn't fall as he walked. "I...she needs to be b-buried, and I d-don't want to bury her here." 

Henry rose to his feet and squeezed Jacob's shoulder. 

"Then we will return to Crawley and bury her there, with your parents." 

"I think she'd like that," Jacob whispered, looking down at his sister's face. Like this, she was peaceful, almost as if she were sleeping, and the image would haunt Jacob for the rest of his life. "Yeah...she would really like that. Our...our family meant a lot to her." 

"I know," Henry sighed, his eyes vacant. "Come, let us get to your train. Things will only grow more complicated once the police arrive; I don't know how we have managed to keep them away so far." 

"My Rooks are good," Jacob laughed, a bit delirious, "they're just not good enough." 

\------

Nobody stopped the broken man who wound his way through London with a woman's corpse in his arms. Perhaps they could see the madness in his eyes, or maybe it was the dangerous looks his companion gave him, but it didn't matter. 

Two Assassins, equal in height. One female, one male. Two decades old, but their devilish smiles extinguished for good. One buried beneath the earth, and one cursed to walk above it far longer than he so desired to once his boon companion had been taken from him. 

London was eventually freed, but she knew nothing of the loss that had helped bring her her freedom. 

\------

Long after London was freed, an old man moved through a humble cemetery with two bunches of flowers in his arms. He set down the bunch containing hyacinths and zinnias on one grave, and the bunch of roses, some tea, some a deep crimson, and others red, on the one directly beside it. He patted the top of the first gravestone and pressed a kiss to the other. As he stood, he read them once more. 

_Here lies Evie Frye, beloved daughter, twin, and friend. "This is a world of action, and not for moping and droning in."_

_Here lies Jacob Frye, twin of Evie, beloved son and friend. "The pain of parting is nothing to the joy of meeting again."_

His heart ached as he walked away, his cloak fluttering gently in the wind as he pulled his hood over his head to obscure his withered face. 


End file.
